They were once kings and killers, seers and sinners. Now, they're back - and none of them remember. In another life, they stood on Kurukshetra. Now, they scroll through Instagram, dodge traffic, argue in cafés. But the wheel has turned. The war was never truly over. Whispers of Krishna in a dream. A shloka scribbled in code. A girl who sees fire in her sleep. And a boy who bleeds when someone else is stabbed. The old weapons are waking. The bonds are re-forming. But this time, the gods are silent. Kurukshetra is no longer a battlefield. It is everywhere. The Mahabharat did not end. It scattered. And now the fragments are remembering.
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